The Love of an Assassin
by Liisa Vatanen
Summary: A young girl meets Altair for the first time when he saves her, and despite his stoic attitude, he seems to grow on her. DISCONTINUED.
1. Saviour

**The Love of an Assassin**

**Chapter 1: Saviour**

"Get her!"

The young dark haired girl darted through the crowds of civilians as the infuriated guards pursued her. All she had done was accidentally bump into one of them because she wasn't looking where she was going, and they now saw it fitting to brandish their weapons and kill her. As she pushed past the bewildered people who were in her way, she desperately looked for some form of escape, or hiding so that she could get away from the guards. Glancing behind her she could see them gaining ground, so she pushed herself harder and ran as fast as her legs would take her. She took a sharp left turn down an alleyway in between two large buildings and then scrambled up the wall, grabbing hold of sills and anything else she could get her hands on. Once she was safely up on the roof and was about to continue on with her escape, she felt a searing pain in her shoulder as an arrow struck her from behind.

"Solomon have mercy!" she screeched in anger. She didn't have time to even cry out in pain, and leapt across from one building to another as the guards on the roof she had completely forgotten about began to chase her too. The sensation made her feel slightly sick; the wound was hurting considerably, but at the same time she could feel the hard wood of the arrow's shaft, and the metal of the barbed head inside her flesh.

She had absolutely nowhere to go; the roofs were occupied by guards, and if she tried to go back down onto the ground the others would find her and kill her too. Her only hope was that they'd give up trying to kill her after a while. To her shock, another arrow whistled past her head, missing it by mere centimetres, and struck the large, reinforced surrounding wall of the city. She hadn't realised she was that close to the edge, and would have to change directions otherwise she'd be trapped. She looked back again as she came to a large gap in between two buildings which was far greater than her ordinary limit, and she knew she wouldn't be able to make it, even if she took a running jump at it. Some fortune was smiling down on her however, as when she turned back she saw that only one guard was following her, and he had now swapped his bow and arrows for a gleaming sword with a brass hilt.

She decided to stand and fight him, even if she didn't have any weapons. She had been taught how to disarm someone, and the incompetence of the Damascus guards gave her the advantage, because their fighting skills certainly weren't superior to hers.

"Filthy wench!" the guard shouted as he leapt across from the roof of his building to hers. She dropped into a fighting stance and readied herself for his attack; it was going to be a challenge even if he _was_ incompetent. He kept his sword raised, and slowly walked towards her, all the time his eyes locked with hers. He lunged, and stabbed at her stomach with his sword, but she nimbly curved her body away from the blade and then swung her foot into his hand from the side, which caused his sword to go flying across to the right, and it clanked malevolently on the whitewashed stone of the roof and then slid off the edge. Enraged, the guard kicked out at her and struck her in the side of the leg, which made her wobble and lose her balance, and he followed it up with a punch to the stomach. Despite her earlier assumptions that the man wouldn't be of much a match for her, she was immediately starting to regret it, and thought that perhaps karma had something to do with why she was losing this particular battle. Doubling up and gasping for air as the breath had been knocked out of her, she only just managed to avoid the man's next attack by rolling away from him as he smashed his fist down through the thin air where she would have been a moment before. She straightened up and swiftly punched him in the jaw so hard he staggered backwards, and she saw this as perfect opportunity to swipe an arrow from his waist quiver and jam it into the bare flesh showing by his neck. The man screamed out in pain and before she could move backwards he grabbed her hard by the arm and swung her with such force across the roof she wasn't able to stop herself and fell over the edge, landing painfully on the top of a wooden market stall below. Women walking by screamed as she landed, and the owner of the stall she had landed on started screeching at her for nearly smashing all of his potter, but she wasn't bothered by that. The fall caused the arrow that was already lodged in her shoulder to go into her flesh even further, and as she lay on the top of the stall she broke off the feathered end. She could see out of her peripheral vision that more guards were coming down the path towards her with their swords drawn, and she jumped down from the stall, stumbling slightly as she found her ankle was sore from her previous fall, and then half ran, half limped away as fast as she could, still hearing the stall owner's angry cries as she fled the scene. She weaved in and out of the perpetual crowd, and limped around a curving path towards more market stalls, but before she got anywhere she felt someone grab her from the side and drag her into a sheltered alleyway on her left. She was about to kick out and tell whoever it was where to go, when she felt an immensely strong arm wrap around her, preventing her from moving or breaking free, and then a large, rough hand cover her mouth and pull her around and then flatten her against the captor's body. He – it must have been a he considering this person was so ridiculously strong – was covering her so that if the guards looked down that alley they'd see only the back of him, and not her. He began to push her forwards, still holding his hand over her mouth and his arm around her body so she couldn't move, and he led her into a small secluded benched area in between the four walls of the buildings surrounding them. He then finally released his grip from her, and instantaneously she spun around and leapt backwards, dropping into a combat stance with both fists raised to her chest.

"Who are you?" she demanded, eyeing the man who was a good head and shoulders taller than her, wearing a white hooded robe concealing his eyes, and leather arm guards and leather boots. He was well equipped with weapons, and as she examined him she noticed a strange piece of metal embedded in the left leather gauntlet. It was then that she familiarised herself with the large amount of weaponry he was augmented with.

"I believe I just saved your life," he said in a deep, growling tone. Her eyes focused on his neatly trimmed moustache and rugged stubble, and his nicely shaped lips which were tainted by a small scar towards the right side. "But of course, you must be too proud to show simple gratitude."

The young woman narrowed her eyes at the man, she disliked being called 'proud' and she hadn't asked to be saved anyway – she was sure she could've done fine on her own. However, she decided that perhaps ignoring his actions which might actually have saved her life, or perhaps a considerable amount of pain was a bad idea, seeing as he had a nice array of weapons at his disposal and she was sure he wouldn't be afraid to utilise them.

"Thanks," she grunted, lowering her fists. It was then that she was suddenly reminded of the pain in her shoulder, and was instantly aware of the blood which was making her beige-turned-scarlet cotton sleeve stick to her skin.

"You are injured," the mysterious man stated the obvious, and took a step towards her. "Let me see."

"It's fine," she replied defiantly, yanking her shoulder out of the way as he reached out to touch it. "I can look after myself."

"If you don't sort it out soon the wound will get infected," he said, his voice much softer now. "Allow me to help you."

"Why do you want to help?" she asked, curious, "I'm nothing but a peasant."

She had lied to him; she wasn't at all a peasant, but was in fact in a very good family in the rich district of the city of Damascus. She didn't often feel comfortable wandering round the poorer district in her nice attire, so would often dress like the peasants in the poor district so that no one would question her being there. She only really went there because she had a friend who she met when she and her father used to live in the rich district, but now they didn't because her father had all of his property and riches taken away from him, for reasons that she didn't know about herself. She had offered to help them out of their financial situation, but her friend's father was most headstrong and refused the charity and said he would rather lead a peasant's life than accept money from people.

"A peasant whose life I saved by risking my own," he stated calmly, "it would be such a waste if you died now."

Amusement crossed the young woman's face and she smiled at him. "I'll let you help if I can know the name of my saviour then," she offered.

"Altair," he replied somewhat quietly, as if afraid someone else might overhear, "Altair Ibn La-Ahad."

"The flying one, and the son of none," she said without thinking.

"How do you know that?" he asked, seemingly surprised by her knowledge.

"I have an apt knowledge for the meaning of names," she replied, inwardly frowning as she said it because it sounded utterly ridiculous. He didn't seem to say anything in protest or disbelief, and she couldn't see if he had raised his eyebrow or not, but she assumed herself safe. The truth of the matter was she had been given a very good education by the best scholars her father could afford ever since she was seven years old, and now, ten years on, she was exceptionally intelligent; more intelligent than an ordinary peasant girl would be, but she was hoping he would not be able to figure that out.

"I see," he said, "and I think it should be fitting that I know your name, bearing in mind I just saved your life."

"Najat," she replied, which incited a grin from the unusually serious man.

"Safety," he said, and within an instant the smile vanished from his perfect lips, "perhaps you would have been all right if I had left you after all."

"Perhaps," she responded, averting her gaze, "but then again, a name is only a name; it does not have anything related to fate, does it?"

"I don't believe fate has anything to do with anything," he said sternly, "fate is just an excuse people use to make their mistakes more acceptable."

Najat nodded, thinking that it was wise not to mention her beliefs that fate determined everything that happened in a person's life, be they good or bad things. Altair began to rip a piece of the material from the bottom of his white robe, and carefully tied it around her shoulder as a tourniquet, being careful not to aggravate the arrow that was still inside the wound.

"Come," he instructed, moving towards a ladder that was fixed to the walls of one of the buildings in the enclosed area, and putting his foot on the lowest rung.

"The guards up there," she said, jutting her head upwards before complying and following him over to the ladder, "won't they attack us?"

"I can take care of them," he said as he climbed slowly up the ladder, "don't worry."

Najat wasn't sure whether she was to trust the man so early on, but then she reminded herself that he did after all, save her life, so that was something she could reassure herself with. She watched as he got onto the top of the roof, and as she reached the top herself, she saw him take out the tiniest knife from the leather belt around his waist, and throw it at one of the oblivious guards who was standing two roofs away, with his back to them. Najat strained her eyes to see as the knife glinted once just before it sliced through the guard's nape, and the guard sank to the ground. Altair then motioned with his hand for her to follow him, and he began to jump from building to building, moving further into the middle of the city where the people who were in between poor and rich lived. She wasn't even sure where they were going.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, clutching onto her shoulder trying to stop it from bleeding all over her clothes completely. Most of the sleeve of her tunic was soaked with the crimson red liquid that was ever so persistent, and she was leaving a trail everywhere. _At least I'll be able to find my way back where we came from_, she thought light-heartedly.

"Somewhere to get your wound seen to," he replied, taking a mighty leap across a larger gap between two buildings. He only just made it, which made Najat think she wouldn't even if she tried. He turned around, and Najat gave him a helpless frown, but he knelt down and held his hand out; he obviously meant he would catch her if she was going to fall.

Confident that he would be there to save her again, she took a running leap at the edge of the building, and held out her own hand, which was clasped onto tightly by his and he pulled her up onto safe ground.

"Thank you," she said, but he had already moved across to the other side of the building and was about to jump. He did, and with such precision and grace that he made Najat feel so inferior, even though she knew that she retained as much elegance as he seemed to be when he jumped. She followed, and jumped across the smaller gap and landed safely on the other side, but she wasn't sure how much more she could take. The fact that she was losing a lot of blood didn't help, and it just made her weaker and weaker, but she was thankful after several more jumps because he told her that they were at an acquaintance's home and that he would be able to tend to her wound. He put her on his back, and then jumped down from the roof into an alleyway where they remained unseen by the patrolling guards, and then he put her down and led her around to the front of the house. He knocked on the door and within a minute it was opened and an older man with an olive green robe on, and a short black beard greeted them.

"Altair," he said, smiling at the white-robed man, "come in," he stepped aside to allow Altair and Najat to enter, "who is your little friend?"

"This is Najat," said Altair, gesturing to her as the welcoming man closed the door behind them, "she is injured. I need you to see to her."

"Very well," said the man, and he held out his hand for Najat to shake, "Ameen."

Najat nodded and showed him both of her hands which were both somewhat bloody. He smiled and retracted his outstretched hand, sufficing their formal introduction with a nod, and beckoned for her to follow him. He led her into a small living area which she thought smelt faintly of spices and herbs mixed with wine, where there were at least two bookshelves filled with books, and a desk at the far end opposite two armchairs which was scattered with various pieces of parchment and inkwells and used quills. She felt slightly grateful that his name meant trustworthy, because if she were to be quite honest, she wasn't sure who to trust in the city. Her father had always taught her to trust no one, no matter how many trusting deeds they may show her because it does not take a lot for someone to turn around and stab one in the back.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to a beautifully embroidered armchair that was midnight blue in colour. She was reluctant to do so for fear of tarnishing the blue fabric with her crimson, but made sure that her blood would not drip onto the seat and ruin it. He disappeared into another room, and came back with a bowl of steaming water, a cloth and a roll of bandage, which he placed on a single wooden table which was next to the armchair. Najat glanced around for Altair, but he was nowhere to be seen, which disheartened her slightly because she would have appreciated a goodbye from her saviour.

Ameen could sense her looking around for the other man as he gently removed some of the fabric covering the wound with her allowance. "He'll be back," he said, and took the cloth from the bowl of water and wrung out the excess moisture carefully. "This is going to hurt," he warned her, before gently wiping the wound. "I'm going to have to push this arrow through. Bite on this," Ameen put the cloth back in the bowl and pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, and revealed a leather arm guard similar to Altair's but Najat could see it wasn't made of the same high quality leather as his was, nor did it have the same strange metal embedded into it. He held out his wrist, and she clamped her mouth softly around the hard leather. He then pushed the arrow through her shoulder, and she bit down hard on his arm guard and let out a muffled scream as she felt the wooden shaft of the arrow go through her skin, and the sharp barbed arrow head pierce through the other side, causing excruciating pain. He placed the bloody arrow on the table next to the bowl, and then took out the cloth again and began to clean the wound properly, still allowing her to bite down on his leather arm guard because he understood how much pain she was in.

Once Ameen was finished cleaning her wound, he stitched it and then had applied some ointment that he said would help prevent infection, and after, applied the bandages to it. He went back into his small kitchen area and brought out a pewter goblet filled with fresh water for her. He sat in the arm chair opposite, which was embroidered exactly the same as the one Najat was sitting on, and propped his elbows on the arms, and put his hands together.

"When is he coming back?" she asked, putting the empty goblet down on the table next to her which had now been cleared of the water, the bloody arrow and the spare bandaging.

Ameen smiled and stroked his beard thoughtfully, "Altair comes and goes; that is who he is. All I can tell you is that he will be back soon."

"I see," she leant back into the chair, being cautious not to lean on her injured shoulder. She was growing ever more intrigued by Altair, and was determined to find out more about him. "Do you know where he has gone?"

"I do know," said Ameen, pursing his lips, "but unfortunately I cannot tell you. What he is doing is somewhat… Secretive. I highly doubt that he would appreciate me telling you – even if he did save your life. I leave that decision up to him."

Najat nodded, she would have to find out about him herself by going straight to the source. "Am I burdening you by being here?" she asked the older, hospitable man, "if I am I can go back to my home, I'm sure my mother can tend to my wound if it needs any tending to, once I am there." She lied. Her mother didn't exist anymore; she died when Najat was younger.

"No, no, don't worry child," he said, shaking his head, "a friend of Altair's is a friend of mine."

Najat felt slightly patronised by Ameen when he referred to her as a 'child, but couldn't help but feel a twinge of happiness strike her as she heard 'friend'. She wasn't exactly gushing with admiration for the mysterious man, because she resented him a little for saving her when she knew that she would have gotten out of the situation one way or another, but still, he did save her the trouble.

When Altair returned it was growing dark, and the sun was just about setting beyond the city walls. Najat had fallen asleep in the same armchair she had been sitting on since his abrupt departure, and Ameen had, in the meantime returned to his paperwork. He appeared in the living area silently, but did not even startle Ameen, he was used to the man entering stealthily, and knew it was part of who he was.

"What are you going to do with her?" asked Ameen, not even glancing up from his papers, and continued to scribble down writing with his quill.

"Take her home."

"And then?"

"Go back to the brotherhood headquarters here, for tonight."

"And then?"

"Do whatever Rafik instructs me to do."

"I see."

Altair walked over to the armchair and carefully picked up the sleeping Najat and held her in his arms, surprised she didn't even stir, considering he'd had to move her shoulder. He thought that perhaps Ameen had drugged her or something, but either way, it saved him the wave of questions she would no doubt be asking him on the journey back to her home. He would have to wake her when they reached the centre of the poor district because he didn't know where she lived, but then that was okay because then she would be too busy directing him to her house rather than asking questions.

"Thank you for helping her," he said, and walked out of the room and towards the door. He turned back and saw Ameen raise his hand and twitch it slightly; a wave in Ameen's special way, and with that, he left the house and disappeared with Najat into the darkening night.

Najat awoke to feel a gentle breeze on her face, and she realised that she was in someone's arms, and they were in mid-air. Startled, she glanced up at her carrier, and was somewhat relieved that it was Altair, and winced as he couldn't help her jolt as he landed on the roof of another building.

"Where are we going?" she asked, still a little bit groggy from her sleep. She too wondered if Ameen had drugged her water because she didn't actually remember falling asleep at all.

"Your district," he said, "poor district."

"Oh w-," Najat was about to tell him she didn't live there, but decided not to, and instead thought that seeing as they were nearly there, it wouldn't hurt to rely on a bed just for one night at her friend Ikram's house, whom she had been visiting earlier that day.

She directed him to her friend's house, and he stopped outside the door, and put her down carefully, trying not to touch her shoulder. He turned to walk away, but Najat took hold of his arm before he could.

"Wait," she said, "you would just leave without a goodbye?"

Altair turned around, shaking her grip from his arm, "goodbye," and he turned to walk away again. Najat was persistent, and took hold of his arm again, firmer this time, which surprised him because he didn't realise a woman could be so strong.

"Am I ever going to see you again, son of none?" She still could not see his eyes for the hood he was wearing, but she caught a glimpse of his lips curling at the edges, but did not turn into a full smile; which was noticeably his obvious stoicism.

"I do not know," he replied truthfully, "my occupation does not require me to stay in a particular city for very long. It takes me to all kinds of places."

"I see," Najat decided it wasn't worth trying to convince him to stay, they had only known each other for less than half a day, and it was hardly an unbearably strong friendship. "Goodnight Altair."

Altair turned, and scaled the wall of the building opposite Ikram's house and the last thing Najat saw of him was the billowing of his white robes, before he disappeared out of her sight.

She turned to the door behind her and knocked on it twice before it was opened by Ikram herself.

"Najat!" she exclaimed, happy to see her friend twice in the same day, "what brings you back here? And what happened to your shoulder?"

"Never mind about my shoulder," she said, "may I rest here for tonight? It's rather late, and I wouldn't want to wander around the streets back to my own home alone."

"Of course," said Ikram, standing to the side and allowing Najat to enter the house, "I shall set up a bed for you in my room. Do you want any food?"

"No, no, but I thank you for your offer." Najat was hungry but she certainly did not want to take food from those who needed it more than she, "just a bed, if you will. I shall make my way home in the morning."


	2. A Chance Meeting

**Chapter 2: A Chance Meeting**

Najat awoke after rather a surprisingly comfortable night's sleep on the makeshift mattress made up of various cushions all arranged neatly on the floor of Ikram's bedroom. She was aware of the other girl standing next to the open window, the sunlight coming through illuminating her evenly tanned face and her shoulder length ebony hair.

"Good morning," she said, though she had not even taken her eyes away from the view outside for a second.

"And to you too," mumbled Najat, still somewhat tired, but she knew she had slept solidly for a good number of hours. "Thank you for your hospitality," she said as she propped herself up with her elbows carefully, putting most of her upper body weight on her uninjured arm.

"It is no trouble," said Ikram, turning away from the window and folding her arms across her chest, "will you be staying for food?"

"No, thank you," replied Najat. She sat up properly and then clambered off the raft of tattered cushions. Ikram had turned again to the window, and was now leaning against the sill, her eyes closed, seemingly deep in thought. "Is something wrong?" asked Najat, approaching the other girl and leaning against the window next to her.

"No my friend, I am perfectly well," she smiled, but did not look directly at Najat, "I suppose I am just being contemplative of my future in this city."

"What are you meaning?"

Ikram sighed and dropped her head, "I do not even know the answer to that question myself, Najat," she began twirling a piece of her thick ebony hair that had fallen across her shoulder around her finger, "as hard as I try to adapt, I just can't stand living a peasant's life here."

"But surely it cannot be that bad?"

"You cannot possibly imagine that after living in the rich district for so long and then being forced to move here, and live like… Like this, that this is not so bad."

"You have not yet grown used to being in such conditions," Najat placed a hand on Ikram's shoulder, "you will, in time."

"That is so easy for you to say, friend," Ikram shrugged the hand away, "but until you yourself have experienced this, I don't think you can say anything at all that should make it better."

Najat was slightly taken aback by her friend's words; she was trying her best to be supportive of her, although the girl was right: she did not know what the experience was like. If she was to be perfectly honest, she could not imagine herself living in the poor district. As much as she liked how humble and warm the people living in that district were, she just couldn't bear the thought of her father's riches being taken away from them. After all, he had worked so hard for them. For her. Her father had not made all of his money without doing anything. When he was sixteen he left his own home and, with what little money his family had saved up for him, went exploring in various towns and villages and finding or buying items, that with his trained eye he could tell were worth so much more than they were being sold for. He then took these back to various cities and made a name for himself as being the 'Merchant of Many Marvels'. This led to him becoming one of the most prestigious men of Damascus when he finally moved into the rich district, and virtually everybody knew his name.

"Tell me, Ikram," Najat broke away from her thoughts and returned to their conversation, "what on this earth did your father do to cause you to lose all of your wealth?"

Ikram turned to her and met her gaze. The girl's gentle hazel eyes revealing a distinct sadness as Najat looked into them deeply. "He told me specifically not to tell anyone; not even you. He fears the humiliation it would bring about, should everyone find out."

"Your father is a wonderful man," said Najat, "I would not wish to bring humiliation upon him; he does not deserve it."

"Wonderful…" Ikram turned away and shook her head, "he is far from wonderful…"

Najat frowned, "why do you say such things?"

"He gambled it all away."

"Gambled what all away, pray tell?"

"Our wealth… He, along with another group of men used to get together and play some sort of game… I don't know what it was, but he ended up losing all of our money to them, and they took it."

Najat put her hand on Ikram's shoulder again, but this time the girl allowed the hand to remain. "I'm sorry, Ikram. I did not realise."

"You were not to know, Najat," Ikram moved over to the improvised bed on the wooden floor of her room, and began rolling up the sheets and gathering up the cushions. "He is my father. The unconditional love I feel for him is far stronger than my shame and disgust with his habits."

"Allow me to help you," Najat turned away from the window and knelt down next to her, "if your father shall not accept my money, then perhaps you shall."

"I could not ask such favours of a friend," she responded, folding the sheets as neatly as she could, and then making a neat pile of them on the floor.

"You need not ask," Najat took one of the crumpled sheets herself and began to fold it up too, "I am giving you the money. If anything I should feel upset that you have not taken it from me – think of it as a gift."

Ikram tilted her head to one side thoughtfully and smiled, "thank you, friend."

*****

The sun was extremely bright and hot on that day, as Najat discovered when she was making her way back to the rich district of Damascus. She was hoping her father had not been worried about her, seeing as she had not returned home the night before. He was very trusting of her, and he knew that she would be able to look after herself, and was more reassured of the latter because he had made sure she was taught valuable combat skills that would aid her should she get into trouble. She had been his tower of strength when her mother had died, and despite grieving herself, she had made it her priority to be there for her father, even though he knew that it was he who was meant to be there for her. She did not mind, however, as she felt she was one of those people who cared for, rather than was taken care of, which was one of her mother's most memorable attributes.

She wandered through the streets of the poor district, keeping her head down and hoping that the guards that had chased her the previous day would not recognise her. She passed many market stalls teeming with the poor person's pottery and fabric, all of them manned with desperate merchants advertising their stock and trying to persuade passers-by to 'treat themselves' to their 'beautiful and excellent value' wares. A blatant lie, Najat would often think to herself, because their wares were far from beautiful, and usually they would sell them for ridiculous prices that hardly anyone could afford, even though the items were probably worth less than half of the price they were trying to sell them for.

She crossed the poor to middle district border and felt more at ease because at least in the middle district she wasn't at risk of being identified by the guards there as the girl that managed to evade their pursuit and injure one of their roof guards with an arrow to his neck. She moved through the streets with no difficulty, being wary when walking past the multitudes of women carrying large clay pots on their heads. She knew from the past that the guards would immediately become suspicious of whoever caused the women to drop their pots, and if it happened more than once, you would be subjected to their pursuit. Najat didn't particularly want to be chased by them again because she wasn't really in fit state to get away properly this time due to the fact her shoulder was more or less useless at the moment, and she wouldn't always be able to rely on the help of mysterious strangers to save her.

When she grew close to the middle and rich district border, she interspersed herself with a group of middle district merchants who were going into the rich district to sell some of their wares. When she was safely past the guards, she broke away from the group and immediately went back to her home, slipped inside, and went up to her room and changed out of her bloody peasant's clothes before her father could see her in them. She changed into her crimson Pirahan which was embroidered with gold thread at the short sleeves and around the neckline, her matching Daman, and the embroidered gold and crimson shawl that she draped neatly over her shoulders. The bandage on her shoulder would last for another hour or so, which gave her enough time to greet her father and eat some food that he had undoubtedly prepared for them both.

"Where have you been, my child?" he asked, setting down a bowl of rice and a small basket of bread on the intricately carved wooden table. He sat down opposite her, with his own bowl of rice, and raised his eyebrows waiting for an explanation.

"You have my deepest apologies, father," she said refusing to meet his somewhat intense stare, picking up her pewter spoon and gently pushing the rice on the top of the miniature mountain in the bowl from one side of it to the other.

"You shouldn't play with your food," he said, which provoked her to look up at him, and she felt a little better because he had a warm, broad smile across his kind face. "Now, tell me," he poured out some fresh water from the tan pitcher into both of their goblets, "where were you?"

"I was staying with Ikram for the night," she said, choosing not to inform him of her run in with the guards and the mysterious man who had saved her life, "I spent too long wandering the poor district and time ran away from me."

"I see," he said, casually stroking his thick jet black beard with his big forefinger and thumb. His beard was his pride and joy, he had vowed never to rid himself of it, and Najat couldn't ever imagine him without it. "How is she? And how is her father? I have not seen either of them for some time."

"They are both well," she replied, "I think later on I shall go and buy her some flowers to say thank you for allowing me to rest there last night."

"I am sure she would appreciate such a kind gesture," he replied, spooning the rice into his mouth in such large capacities that he was nearly finished after just four mouthfuls. He finished his rice and then drunk the water left in his goblet. "If you do not mind, Najat, I must get to work. My wares will not sell themselves."

Najat nodded as the tall, well-built man got up from the table, said his goodbyes to her and then disappeared out of the house carrying a large crate full of divine pottery. His stall was right in the middle of the market, and every single day he was out selling, he managed to sell nearly all of his stock. She couldn't determine whether it was because the people of this district could never have enough pots, or because they were charmed by his master persuasion techniques. Either way, he always brought money home, and would give a quarter of his earnings to her, which was then added to her savings. She felt guilty for being given the money and not doing anything to earn it, but her father was persistent and would not give up until she accepted it.

Once she was finished with her rice, she went to find the house maid, Mufeeda, to help her with her bandages. She was a very trustworthy person, and often watched the house for them if her father was out buying more valuable items to sell on his stall, and Najat wished to go out somewhere. Najat found her tidying in the living area, rearranging the cushions on the settees and straightening the paintings that were hanging on the walls.

"Goodness! My lady Najat you frightened me," she exclaimed as she turned around from the paintings to see Najat standing silently in the doorway with a smile on her face.

"Apologies, Mufeeda," replied Najat, "may you assist me with something?"

"Of course," said the maid, approaching her, "anything."

Mufeeda herself was rather beautiful, and had very dark brown eyes that looked like obsidian ringed in white, and she had curly dark brown hair to match that came to just below her shoulders. She lived with Najat and her father, and had her own bedroom too. Najat's father had met her on his travels, she was homeless and was sleeping in a stable with the town's horses, and she was so weak from not eating, he wasn't sure how much longer she would have survived out there. Being the Good Samaritan he was, he brought her back to their house and fed her and treated her to new clothes. She had been so thankful for his help that she offered to clean the house and make them meals, and Najat's father had given her a bed and her own food in return.

Najat beckoned for Mufeeda to follow, and she led the older woman into the kitchen. She then took off her shawl and pulled the blouse across so that she could show the maid her shoulder wound.

"Oh my," the woman was visibly shocked by the large bandaging covering the wound. "How did you acquire such an injury?"

"Don't tell father," she said firmly, "I do not want him to worry about me."

Mufeeda nodded, "but how did you do that?"

"I was struck with an arrow," she replied, "I accidentally bumped into one of the guards in the poor district when I went to visit Ikram, and they started chasing me."

"I do not mean to be rude, Najat," she said, a genuine expression of worry across her face, "but may I be so bold as to say you really should be more careful?"

Najat giggled light-heartedly, understanding the other woman's genuine concern with her welfare, "I promise you next time I go wandering around the poor district I shall be extremely vigilant."

Mufeeda nodded slowly with a kind smile, "now, allow me to change these bandages for you."

She gently untied them, and slowly unwrapped the dressing, and Najat couldn't help but wince as she finally took the part of the bandage that was directly on the wound, off.

"Did you stitch these yourself?" asked Mufeeda, noticing that both puncture marks on her front and back were neatly closed with the finest thread.

"No," she replied truthfully, but the next thing she said was a lie. "I was taken in by a kind man who is an acquaintance of Ikram's father. He saw to it."

"Ah," Mufeeda retrieved some wound ointment from Najat's father's medicine cabinet in his study, and warned Najat before she was to apply it. Najat scrunched her face as she felt the cool liquid seep into her burning wound, and tried not to fidget as the woman carefully applied some more bandaging to it. "It is healing nicely already," she said, going back into the study and putting the ointment back exactly where she got it from.

"Thank you," said Najat when she had returned, experimenting with her shoulder movement to see how much she could move it before it started to hurt.

"Can I get you anything else?" asked Mufeeda, taking away the used crockery and goblets and pewter cutlery and putting them all gently into a fired clay washing bowl.

"No, thank you," replied Najat, getting up from where she was seated and disappearing up to her bedroom. When she came back, she was carrying a small pouch of gold coins, and draped the shawl over her shoulders again. "I am going to go and buy some flowers for dear Ikram," she told Mufeeda who was now washing the used bowls and cutlery with some fresh water she had obviously collected earlier, "I'll be back later."

"Be safe," said Mufeeda before Najat left the house.

*****

Najat decided she would avoid the hustle and bustle of the main marketplace because she knew that her shoulder would get knocked multiple times due to the vast amount of people who walked around there. Instead she decided to go and see what the street market stalls had to offer. She passed countless stalls selling rugs imported from Egypt and Persia, and pottery from all over the Holy Land, and began to wonder how her father managed to sell so much with such fierce competition.

Eventually, after a long walk through the streets she found a flower stall with some of the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen before in her seventeen years of life. She was surprised she had never come across such a stall before, considering the vibrant colours instantly caught the eye and enticed one to go and take a closer look, which is when the man behind the stall would unleash his powers of persuasion and get people to buy the flowers.

"See anything you like, beautiful lady?" he asked Najat as she perused the flowers carefully, deciding that that was where she was to get them from. Her eyes wandered to three flowers, all the same, with pure white petals, and pointed to them without saying a word. "All three?" he asked to which Najat responded with a nod, and he took the three out of their small pot of water, "twenty gold."

Najat had absolutely no knowledge of the price of flowers, but she was sure they weren't that expensive. She paid him anyway, concluding that they were only that price because people like her could afford to buy them.

As she turned to walk back down the street in the direction of her home, she was aware of some shouting coming from behind her. As she turned around she saw a flash of white invade her vision, and she felt a strong arm push her out of the way. The next moments were entirely in what she felt to be slow motion. She could feel herself falling backwards, and as the white robed mystery she was familiar with pushed her, he turned his head to look at her and for the first time she was able to see his eyes fully. He narrowed them as he recognised who she was, yet no expression crossed his face and his lips tarnished with the battle scar remained straight and serious, and her own eyes wandered to his left wrist, and she saw a small, razor-sharp blade protruding from the end of the leather gauntlet. She followed the line of the blade and saw that he was missing his ring finger.

And then she hit the ground, and within an instant the man in the white robes had disappeared, being closely pursued by at least five guards, and the pain in her shoulder was reawakened. She stood up, inwardly cursing him. She wasn't sure if the stitches had been opened again as she fell, and wasn't really in the most suitable place to check, either. She picked up her flowers that she'd dropped on the ground; thankful they hadn't been damaged. The image of his blade and his amputated finger told her only one thing: he was an assassin.

Holding tightly onto her flowers, she chose to follow the angry shouting of the guards, and hoped it would lead her to him. She knew for a fact he'd recognised her, even if the meeting of their eyes was only for a mere second, and she knew that she must find him. She didn't know why she wanted to find him, but it was as though some sort of mysterious force was compelling her to do so, and she hurried after them.

Najat found herself growing more and more unfamiliar with her surroundings the further she followed them. Admittedly she had not actually ventured everywhere inside the city, despite living in it for seventeen years of her life. She was walking through a network of narrow paths in between smaller houses, but she had absolutely no idea how far from the centre of the rich district she was, or even how far from the nearest wall of the city she was. She was about to turn back and try to retrace her steps back to the flower stall, and then make her way back home from there, when out of the corner of her eye coming down the pathway towards her was the assassin. Quickly she searched for an escape, and to her right she saw a very narrow alley in between two tall buildings. She heard the cries of the guards not far behind him, and as he ran closer towards her she took hold of his arm with her own free one and forced him into the narrow passage with her, and flattened him against the southern wall so that when the guards ran past they wouldn't be able to see him. She kept hold of him, and he didn't struggle in protest as the guards ran past the entrance, missing it completely. Najat breathed a heavy sigh of relief and released her grip from the man, and looked up at him.

"Thank you," he muttered, ostensibly bothered by the fact he had just been saved by a woman, and not only a woman, but the woman he had saved in almost exactly the same situation the day before.

"You're welcome, son of none," she replied with a smile.

She could tell, even though she couldn't see his eyes for the shadow the hood cast on them that he was looking closely at her attire. "You do not look like a peasant today," he grunted, folding his arms, "why is that?"

Najat frowned, and looked away, "because I am no peasant," she admitted, wondering what the man's response might be to finding out she had lied to him.

"I am not one who appreciates lies, Najat," he said sternly.

Najat stopped herself from smiling so that he didn't perceive it to be a mocking one, but she couldn't help feeling to some extent pleased that he too had remembered her name. "I apologise," she said softly, turning to look at him again, "I was caught up in the moment." The man remained silent, and Najat couldn't tell if he was doing it for dramatic effect or whether he was contemplating killing her. "You are an assassin, are you not?"

He did not speak but nodded his head. Najat wondered how more mysterious this man could possibly be, but she supposed it was an idiosyncrasy that came with the idea of being an assassin; the silent, mysterious, brooding type. Najat took a step back, as if to let him know if he had more important things to do, he was free to go. But he didn't move a muscle, and remained standing there in front of her.

"How is your shoulder?" he asked, completely out of the blue, which surprised Najat; this man indeed _was_ full of mystery and surprise.

"It is getting better," she said, "or it was," she narrowed her eyes at him, "until you pushed me to the ground making your escape earlier."

She noticed the same flicker of amusement flash across his face as she had seen the day prior to the present, and she was inwardly surprised yet again when his lips curved into a full smile. "I am sorry," he said, his tone much silkier and gentler than before, "please forgive-" He suddenly clutched at his side, and Najat's eyes wandered down to see a patch of moist crimson on his white robe where his hand was pressing. "I must go," he said, and began to retreat down the passage.

"Wait!" Najat ran after him and grabbed hold of his arm, "please," she said, forcing him to face her, "let me help you."

"No," he said, manoeuvring his arm out of her grip and continuing on down the passage. Najat wasn't going to give up until he yielded, and grabbed hold of him again, this time much more strongly than before, like she had done so yesterday.

"Please," she softly, "you would be much better off coming back to my home with me seeing as I live in this district. You might be nearly dead by the time you go to your friend Ameen's house in the middle district – you've lost a lot of blood already." She had only taken a wild guess at the idea he might be going to go to Ameen's house to get his wound sorted out, but she presumed herself right when she felt his arm relax in her grip.

"Very well," he said, "lead the way."


	3. Conflict

**Chapter 3: Conflict**

Najat took hold of Altair's arm and led him out into the open streets of the rich district. With his free arm he was pressing down onto his wound in the hopes that it would lessen the blood flowing from it so that he didn't lose too much. She quickly glanced around, scanning the area for guards, but thankfully she saw none, and with a little tug, he obediently started to follow her again.

She thought it was best if she took him down the less congested alleys around the district back to her house just in case the guards that had been on his tail earlier happened to circle again and meet up with them. She hardly spoke on the short journey; she was too busy concentrating on finding her way, and keeping an eye out for any guards or other figures of marginal authority, for if she were to be caught with an assassin, she would surely be seen as a traitor to the city and possibly sentenced to death.

She didn't even know why she was helping him. He was an assassin, and she was just a woman of wealth, neither of them were at all alike and usually would not associate with each other. Word had spread fast through Damascus about the recent assassinations in Acre and Jerusalem, but on both occasions the killer had escaped. There had been an assassination in Damascus too – and this seemed to be the beginning of a chain of assassinations in the Holy Land. Tamir, a merchant, much like her father had been slain by an assassin, who had of course, evaded capture and sparked tremendous worry amongst other merchants and the citizens of Damascus. Najat had begun to fear for her father's safety after Tamir was murdered, but he didn't seem particularly fazed by it, and continued to sell his wares in the main marketplace. A thought crossed Najat's mind: what if it was him? What if he was the one who had killed Tamir? He certainly wasn't someone to be ruled out of the equation considering he was an actual assassin in the flesh, and his gauntlet and missing ring finger were definite proof of the fact. She didn't fear for her own safety, but instead more for her father's because she knew he had been associated with Tamir, and if the assassin wanted to kill other merchants linked with him, her father would be a target.

She turned back for a moment to see if he was all right, considering he hadn't said a word since they had left the alleyway where she had saved him from the angered guards. He was looking elsewhere, obviously he too was checking for guards because his head twitched in different directions as they walked out into the open main streets to cross into the alleyways she was taking him through.

"How far until we reach your house?" he asked, the frailty of his voice very surprising to Najat.

"Not far," she replied, turning a sharp right hand corner and then taking a sharp left into a dimmer alley which was in between two tremendously tall buildings, blocking out any sunlight.

"How far is not far?" he asked.

"Here," she escorted him across the large open space surrounded by a curve of houses, and then went to the largest house at the end of the curve and quietly opened the door and brought him inside with her. She then pressed a finger to her lips as he opened his mouth to ask who was singing in the kitchen area just down the hallway. Najat beckoned for him to follow her, and she guided him past the kitchen entrance where he couldn't help but peek inside to see who the woman singing so nicely was. She was quite glad Mufeeda hadn't heard them go upstairs because she didn't want a salvo of questions being asked about the mysterious stranger she'd brought into the house, who just so happened to be an assassin. Her father was still out obviously, but she would have to be discreet when going back downstairs to go and retrieve the ointment and bandages from her father's study. She sat Altair down on her bed, and then disappeared downstairs, being very quiet, but Mufeeda was still singing, oblivious to everything. She went into her father's study, straight to the medicine cabinet which was next to one of his bookcases full of ancient texts, and took out a roll of gauze and the ointment Mufeeda had used on her own wound earlier that day. She closed the cabinet, being careful not to disturb anything else in the room; her father had a very observant eye, and would often notice if something in the study had been moved out of place. She would have to wash the wound too, and knew she already had an empty bowl and clean cloth in her room, and so went into the storage room where food and collected water was left for later use. She searched around in the room for a small bucket, dipped it into the larger ones full of fresh water, and carried it out of the room. Najat then retreated back upstairs, where Altair was still sitting on the bed where she had left him.

"How are you feeling, Altair?" she asked him as she placed the roll of gauze on her dresser and then pouring some of the water from the bucket into the bowl, and then putting the clean cloth in and soaking it completely.

"Fine," he replied, "it is only a scratch, and it does not need your time wasting on it."

Najat let out a laugh, "oh come on," she said, wringing out the cloth and walking over to him, "a scratch? If you think _that_," she gestured to his bleeding side where a stab wound was clearly visible, "is a scratch, then you are more deluded than I thought."

"I am not deluded at all," he said, "it is you who is deluded, thinking that I, a grown man, cannot take care of my own wound."

"You should just be thankful I pulled you into that passage when I did," she snorted in response, "by the time you would have lost them I guarantee you would be on your last thread of life."

She could see he was defeated when he turned his head away and sighed impatiently. "That wound is not going to clean itself," she said a moment later, "take your upper robe off so I can."

"Just go out," he ordered, "I can do it myself."

"You can't bandage yourself properly," she retorted.

"I can, Najat." She could tell he was growing more and more impatient as she argued with him. "I request that you just leave me be. I can sort myself out."

Najat rolled her eyes and sighed, "Very well then," she thrust the damp cloth into his hand, walked briskly out of the room, and closed the door behind her, letting her anger at his ungratefulness show very clearly.

She leant against the wall next to the door, and suddenly became aware of some slow footsteps coming up the stairs. They were certainly too light to be her father's so she assumed it was just Mufeeda.

Surely enough, the older woman appeared at the top of the stairs with a large broom in her hands, ready to hit someone with it.

"Oh, goodness, lady Najat!" she exclaimed for the second time that day, lowering her broom and placing a hand over her heart, "I heard voices up here and then I heard your door close, I thought there were intruders."

"Sorry, Mufeeda," said Najat, "I should have told you I'd returned, my apologies."

"Do you have someone here with you?" she asked.

"No, why do you ask?"

"Oh, I could have sworn I heard more than one voice," she said, a frown intruding upon her generally happy features.

"No, it is just me, I can assure you."

"Very well Najat," she then nodded her head and began to descend the staircase again, "let me know if you need anything."

Najat thanked the Gods Mufeeda was ridiculously gullible, and was hoping she wouldn't come back up and start probing her with more questions. She moved her face closer to the door, wondering how Altair was getting on with his wound.

"Are you all right in there?" she whispered loudly through the door so he could hear her.

"Fine," he replied simply.

_I think I shan't be able to control myself and might slap him around the face_, she thought from behind the door, _he needs to learn to be more grateful._

Five minutes later the door opened and Altair was standing in the doorway with his robe pulled up away from the wound, revealing a very nicely toned torso. His paler skin in comparison to his hands and face from what she could see underneath his hood was dotted with nasty scars, and the fresh wound would be another to add to his collection.

He waved his hand in front of Najat's face briefly which broke her away from her miniature examination of his scars, and she looked up at his shadowed face. "I need some help with the gauze."

Najat nodded and followed him back into her bedroom, and she noticed his large leather waist belt was lying on the bed. He'd managed to clean the wound, put the ointment on, and even stitch it himself, yet he couldn't do the bandaging, like she'd predicted. She could tell by the way he'd suggested she help him, rather than directly asking, he knew she'd been right all along. He sat down on the bed and handed her the roll of bandaging, and she began unravelling it ready to put on his wound. She pressed the strip of gauze onto his wound, feeling him tense a little because the procedure of even applying bandages was painful. She then began to carefully wrap it around his chest fairly tightly, and then, when she was done, she tucked the loose end into the rest.

"Are you injured anywhere else?" she asked, stepping backwards to admire her handiwork.

"No," he replied, pulling down his robe and tucking it back into his also white shalvar and tying the belt back around his waist.

He absolutely fascinated her. She was mesmerised by him and she didn't even particularly like his attitude. She would admit that yes, she was drawn to him in a strange way, and he was undeniably handsome underneath that hood of his, but he was somewhat ungrateful. Najat wasn't sure if that was because he had this ongoing façade that meant he should not show gratitude or emotion to anyone, because it went against his morals or beliefs. He was a mystery, and she was extremely determined to solve him – or at least try and melt the icy barrier that seemed to stop him from getting close to anyone.

"Do you ever take all of your weapons off?" she asked him as he stood up.

"No," he replied, "being who I am I cannot take any risks. I keep my weapons equipped all of the time."

"So how do you sleep with those swords digging into your back?" she asked flippantly.

"I think you know what I am meaning," he said seriously, brushing past her as he headed towards the balcony at the far side of her room which was concealed with the long flowing violet curtains.

"Altair," she caught his attention before he stepped out onto the stone balcony, and he turned back to her, "do you not want any food, or drink?"

He paused and pondered the offer for a moment. "Just some water, if you will."

Najat nodded and went back downstairs into the kitchen which had since been tidied up by Mufeeda, who was now sitting down in the living room, taking a break from her cleaning of the house. She filled a goblet full of fresh water, and took it back upstairs, went back into her room, where Altair was standing by the window, looking out onto the rich district.

"Here," she gave him the goblet and he took it from her. Najat watched as he carefully eyed the liquid and surreptitiously sniffed at it.

"I have not poisoned it, you know," she said, leaning against the sill next to him.

"I apologise if you took offence," he said, putting it to his lips and taking a large gulp of water, "it is a habit."

"I wouldn't try and poison you," she stated, "you saved my life; it wouldn't be a very nice way to treat my saviour now, would it?"

"I suppose not," he muttered, "you lied to me about who you were… You could be lying about anything, for all I know."

"Look," she turned to him, but he didn't turn to her, and continued to look out of the window stubbornly, "I did not intentionally lie to you. You caught me off guard."

Altair laughed sarcastically, the first time Najat had heard him show any other proper emotion apart from being stern and serious, "you poor girl," he wiped the watery residue from his upper lip with the back of his hand, "you would not be alive if I had caught you off guard."

Najat's eyes twinkled mischievously for a moment, and before he could stop her, she slipped the short sword out of its sheath on his back, and she leapt backwards, pointing the blade towards him. "Allow me to see if you are as good as you say you are."

The assassin hesitated, and Najat took a swipe at him with the short sword, and in a flash he'd drawn his own blade and there was a terrific clash that rung through the air as metal met metal. His strength was superior to hers, and he pushed her backwards which caused her to stagger and momentarily lose her balance. She regained her posture and lunged again, but her sword was confronted with his own and she was stopped once again. She then began to strike with a flurry of swift movements, but each time her blade was deflected. She wondered why he was only defending rather than attacking, but as the fight progressed further, and she grew increasingly tired, she realised why. She hunched over her sword, panting heavily, and lunged forwards once more, projecting all of the remaining energy she had into the final blow. Altair blocked the attack and they were in a weapon deadlock, but not for long when he disarmed her by twisting her wrist by circling her sword with his own, and the short sword went flying across the room and skidding across the varnished wooden floorboards, stopping as it hit the wall. Before Najat could react, he had directed the tip of his cutlass at her throat.

"Am I?" he asked, still holding the blade to her.

Najat narrowed her eyes at him, and casually pushed the blade away with her hand. She turned away from him; annoyed that he was actually as good as he'd said he was. She clenched her fists and inhaled deeply, aware of him sheathing his blade again behind her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, briefly taking her by surprise, and she turned around to face him again. He was smiling, properly, for the first time Najat had seen, and it relinquished her anger because it was so, so genuine.

"Yes," she breathed calmly as he edged his face closer to hers. He got so close that she could feel his own breath tickle her lips, and she reached up to gently pull down his hood, but he took hold of her wrists with his hand before she could.

"I would have to kill you," he said softly.

"Get your filthy hands off my daughter!" roared Najat's father whom neither of them had heard coming up the stairs. The burly man stormed into the room with a longsword and stood a metre or so away from the two. Altair released his grip from Najat's wrists and turned to face her father.

"You have my word that I do not wish to harm either you or your daughter." He raised his arms to show he wasn't a threat to either of them, but as he did so Najat's father saw the missing ring finger and made the same assumption as she had done earlier.

"Liar!" he yelled, "you are an assassin!"

Najat darted in front of Altair as her father raised his sword ready to strike him. "Please, father," she met his harsh gaze and pleaded with her eyes, "he saved my life yesterday; he is not going to harm us."

Her father stopped and folded his lips into a thin line, his eyes fixed on the assassin behind his daughter. "Najat, get out of my way," he instructed forcefully.

Najat turned her face to the side slightly so she could see Altair out of the corner of her eye. "Go," she whispered.

Before her father could act in response, the assassin shot across the room and out onto the balcony, and within a split second had jumped off the parapet. Her father rushed out onto the balcony and looked over, but he was nowhere to be seen. He turned around and walked back into the room towards Najat. "What do you think you are doing?" he asked her angrily, "he is an assassin! A killer! Do you have any idea what could happen to you, to me, if the officials find out you are fraternising with an assassin?"

"Father, please," Najat sank down onto the bed and sighed heavily, "he saved my life!"

"That does not excuse the fact that he is a murderer, Najat!"

"He was injured; it was the least I could do to repay him."

Her father had a look of sheer disappointment on his face as he shook his head at her. "You have disgraced yourself… You have disgraced me."

"Father please do not be like this," she begged, standing up and approaching him, "if he had not come when he did, I might not be here now."

"I do not want to speak about it anymore," he forced her into silence by raising his hand as she opened her mouth to speak in protest, "you shall not go out anywhere from now on without me to escort you."

"But-"

"I do not want to hear another word from you!" he shouted, and stormed out of her room, slamming the door shut behind him so hard that it nearly came off its hinges.

Najat sat back down on the end of her bed, silently cursing her father as she heard his heavy footsteps descend the staircase. He had absolutely no right to tell her she couldn't go out, she was old enough to make decisions for herself, and she was capable of looking after herself when she was out and about in the city. She glanced around her room for a moment, looking for something worthless to smash or hit to take out the anger she was feeling on, when she saw the short sword she had taken from Altair lying on the floor next to the wall on her right. She walked over to it and picked it up. This would be her ticket to see him again. He'd realise he'd left it here, with her, and would come back and get it. She was stung into fleeting happiness, and reminisced back to the moment where he'd leant in closer to her and she could feel his soothingly warm breath on her lips. She felt something. Something strange, she couldn't quite figure out what it was, but she concluded it was a nice feeling.

Najat walked back over to her bed and slid the sword underneath it gently, and then lay down amongst the many cushions by her pillows. She lay there for a while thinking about him, and before she knew it, she had drifted into a deep sleep.


	4. Leaving

Hey everybody, sorry to keep you waiting so long, I've been pretty busy over the summer (:

It's pretty long so I hope that compensates.. I think there'll probably be another 1 or 2 chapters after this - I'm not entirely sure yet..

Let me know what you think ! Enjoy (:

* * *

**Chapter 4: Leaving**

Najat was half-awake, aware of someone walking around her room quietly, moving from one side to the other, moving things on her dressing table and looking in her wardrobe. She sat up; unable to see for the darkness, but brandishing her dagger she kept underneath her pile of cushions.

"Who goes there?" she demanded, her nerves prevalent as her speech wavered. "Whoever you are, I shall have you know-" She was cut off by a gloved hand that seemed to come out of nowhere and cover her mouth.

"Najat," the voice belonged to a man, and his tone was smooth and gentle and it reminded her of-

"Altair!" she cried, her exclamation coming out muffled and quieter than it would have done had his hand not been there. She turned, moving against his wrist and standing next to her was the assassin that had been in that very room sorting out his side wound not so long ago. She could only just make out the outline of his hood and shoulders, and although she now knew who her midnight intruder was, he didn't move his hand away from her mouth.

"Where is my sword?" he asked, his tone suddenly very firm and obstinate as he removed his hand from over her mouth.

"It is nice to see you too," she retorted, irritated by his blatant lack of manners. He hadn't even thanked her for helping him yesterday; she risked her life and her reputation for him and he hadn't even shown an ounce of gratefulness. He really was impossible. "Thank you Najat, for coming to my aid before, it was greatly appreciated."

He merely grunted in response and repeated his question: "where is my sword?"

"Patience my friend," she teased, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed as she sat up, feeling a chill on her bare skin where the warmth of the sheets was before. "How is your side?"

"I don't have time to play games," he snapped, grabbing her by her upper arms and holding her rigidly, "where is my sword?"

She didn't want to give him the sword. She wanted him to tell her he'd come back for her, not an inanimate object that could easily be replaced. She knew that was what he was feeling, even though he wasn't showing it. "I don't know," she said, "I cannot seem to remember where I put it."

"Do not lie to me!" he growled, suddenly sounding like a complete stranger, "I won't ask again; _where is my sword_?"

For some reason Najat couldn't seem to control herself and she replied with: "I don't know," when it was a deliberate lie.

Before it could even register in her head, Altair had the blade that was embedded in his leather wrist guard at her throat, and his whole body pinning her down on her bed so she couldn't fight back. He moved his face so close to hers she could count each individual head of stubble on his chin and upper lip.

"I am not afraid of you," she said defiantly, her voice sounding much more fearless than she felt.

"You should be," she watched his lips dance to his words, feeling the cold metal of the blade pressing lightly against the skin on her neck.

"You won't kill me," she said simply, hoping not to cross the line with him. He was an assassin, and he would have been trained to kill mercilessly without even a thought for the victim.

"How can you be so sure?" he questioned with a hint of condescension, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Because I can," she replied, leaning forwards against the blade at her neck, and pressing her lips to his.

*****

Najat awoke with a start, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight that was pouring in through her window and blinding her momentarily. She slowly accustomed her eyes to the light after being asleep for so long, and got out of bed, going down onto her knees and moving the pile of cushions she'd put there to conceal the sword. It was still there, so she hadn't had an uninvited visitor in the middle of the night like in her dream.

_What a strange dream,_ she thought to herself, pulling on her scarlet silk robe and running her fingers through her long ebony hair. She wondered if the dream had been some sort of premonition; that Altair would come back to her looking for his sword and then… Well, what happened afterwards she wasn't quite sure would really happen. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't think he was attractive in a very rugged, masculine way, but that was all she saw in him – physicality. She didn't know anything about him apart from that he was an assassin and his name was Altair Ibn La-Ahad, but he could easily be lying about that.

She dismissed her thoughts regarding the mysterious assassin and pushed them to the back of her mind while she tried to think of some way to rid herself of the punishment her father had placed upon her. She glanced over at the open balcony; the violet drapes rustling as a gentle breeze disturbed them. She could quite easily just climb down from the balcony if she was very quiet and very careful, but she knew if she was found out he would punish her again; the second time probably much worse.

She sighed and walked over to the balcony, leaning on the parapet and breathing in the fresh air as she looked out onto the rest of the rich district. The guards were on the rooftops, patrolling as usual, keeping a watch out for trouble – or so everyone thought, except Najat. She didn't even need to research into it to know that most of the city's guards were corrupt and often posed more of a threat to the civilians rather than ordinary criminals; the episode two days ago was proof of that.

There was a knock at her door, so Najat took herself away from the balcony and walked across the room to open it. Mufeeda was standing there, holding a tray with her breakfast on it, her expression solemn.

"Is my father really that disappointed in me?" she asked. She had never been brought breakfast in the mornings; her father always liked her to sit with him in the mornings before he went off to the markets. He had been angry with her for various reasons before, but she had never done anything so bad that he did not want her to eat breakfast with him.

"I'm afraid so, my lady," Mufeeda replied, looking down at the tray rather than at Najat as she spoke.

"I suppose you are disappointed in me too, are you?"

"My opinions don't really matter," she responded, "but I agree with your father; assassins are dangerous and you shouldn't associate yourself with them."

"He saved my _life_," she said, annoyed that her father had taken it as an inconsequential detail, and hoped Mufeeda wouldn't either.

"But he is an assassin," the maid said softly, "for all you know you could be his next target, and he uses saving you as a means to get closer to you. Don't you understand, Najat? He is a cold-blooded killer; there is no good in him at all."

"Thank you for the breakfast, Mufeeda," Najat snatched the tray from her and slammed the door in her face, incensed by both of them being so judgemental. She was old enough to decide for herself who she associated with and when she went out and whether she was unaccompanied or not.

She put the tray down on her desk that was organised tidily with books and pieces of parchment all piled up neatly, all of a sudden not feeling very hungry anymore. She was sure she would not be so prejudiced if an assassin had saved her father's life. He was unbelievable.

Just thinking about him was making her angrier, so she decided to wash herself and get changed and go. She had enough money in her savings to pay for whatever necessities she might need, and she was certain Ikram would be prepared to give her a bed for a few nights before she properly sorted out what she was going to do with herself.

She went out onto the landing and into the washroom where she rinsed her hair and washed her face, and then went back into her room and got dressed. She unearthed the sword from underneath its cover of cushions and found herself a belt to tie it onto her back. She found the sheath for the dagger she kept under her pillows and tied it around her waist underneath her flowing orange ankle length skirt. She was glad it didn't show through the thin fabric; guards were always highly suspicious of civilians carrying weapons and after her last visit to the poor district, she didn't want what happened happening again. After rummaging around in the bottom of her wardrobe for her animal hide satchel, she put her pouch of gold coins in it, a quill and an inkwell, some parchment and her shawl. Slipping it over her shoulder, she headed for the balcony, balancing on the top edge of the parapet and lowering herself down as far as she could, and then dropping down onto the ground, grateful that their house wasn't so tall.

She ran off into the city without even a glance behind her, concluding that what she was doing was for the best – for her, and for her father.

*****

After wandering around the city for what seemed like hours, Najat found she was getting rather hungry, and wished she'd eaten the breakfast she'd been brought when she'd had the chance. She strolled through the markets, passing stall after stall selling pottery and rugs, but no food.

She was about to turn back and try the next market street, when she was elbowed out of the way by a burly man who was much taller than her and had a very large beer belly. She went careering into a group of women carrying large ceramic pots on their heads, causing them all to drop them and smash them on the ground.

"Get her!" shouted a guard who came to inspect the commotion, seeing Najat getting up from the ground, brushing ceramic and dust from her clothes.

"Not again," she muttered, rolling her eyes. The guard who shouted at her drew his sword, and charged at her, but she quickly moved out of the way just before he was about to strike and he ran straight into the wall of the building behind her. She took his ineptitude as a chance to run, so she did, straight into the oncoming crowd of market-goers. She didn't dare look back, and carried on until she came across an alleyway, which she immediately ran down and followed its curve – until it came to a dead end.

"She's gone down here!" she heard a voice echo down the passage, and she panicked, looking for some way to get up onto the roofs. There weren't any ledges or ladders for her to get up, and she readied herself for the imminent fight that would happen any second. She slid her hand down the back of her tunic and pulled out Altair's sword, holding it out from her body as two guards came rushing down the alley. She was grateful that there were only two this time, whereas last time there had been at least five on one; she hadn't stood a smidgen of a chance.

"Die!"

The one lunged, the song of clashing metal echoing in the narrow alley as she deflected his blow, staggering backwards slightly as his strength behind his blade overpowered her. She kicked out, her foot impacting with his kneecap and making him lose his balance and fall over, and followed it with a slice to the throat just as his companion charged at her. She dove into a forwards roll, missing his blow by centimetres and then spinning round to block his second attack. They were caught in a weapon deadlock as he pushed down on her, and she struggled to maintain the balance of the deadlock as she pushed back with all of her strength. She swung her foot up in between his legs, and he let out a high-pitched squeal as she crushed his jewels, and he dropped his sword as he clutched his groin. With one swift motion of her wrist she cut his throat and with a helpless gasp that came out as a gurgle, it caused blood to spray everywhere. Najat just managed to avoid it as she took a leap backwards, slotting the sword back into its makeshift sheath on her back.

"Fools," she snorted as she walked back down the alleyway, interspersing herself with the crowd again, holding her head high as if she was _just_ a woman of wealth and she was incapable of doing any harm.

When she crossed over the boundary that separated the middle and the poor district she got funny looks from the guards, all wondering why a woman dressed so wealthily would have business with the impoverished. She didn't really have any choice regarding what she wore, short of going back and searching for her bloody peasants' clothing she threw down the alleyway the other day.

As she walked through the poor district she brought unwanted attention to herself; mainly because of the clothes she was wearing; she kept being pestered by beggars and people trying to sell her things. She declined the merchants' offers, but was slightly more lenient with the beggars and dipped her hand into her large pouch of money and threw one coin to each just so they would leave her alone.

She arrived outside Ikram's house, which was one of the first houses in the poor district, right next to the gate that lead to Kingdom, and then from there, there were roads to Jerusalem and Acre. She didn't hesitate to knock on the door, and after a minute or so of waiting outside the door opened and Ikram's father, Hisham threw his arms open and greeted her with a hug.

"How is my favourite friend of Ikram's?" he asked her, stepping aside so she could go inside the house, "what brings you here, Najat?"

"I am very well, thank you, Hisham," she answered his first question, and then the second, "my father and I have had a minor feud," she said, following him into their kitchen area and sitting down on one of the rickety chairs at the also rickety table, "it is quite trivial, really. Sometimes he can be so overbearing…"

"Well Najat, you are like a second daughter to me," he said, pouring himself a goblet of water and offering one to her, but she said no, "if you ever need somewhere to stay, then you are always welcome here, and I am sure Ikram would love to have you here for more than one night."

Najat smiled, realising she'd forgotten to bring the flower she'd bought especially for Ikram with her. "Allow me to go out and buy us some food for this evening," she said, "I shall cook for us all as a thank you for your kindness."

Hisham looked hesitant to agree, but Najat gave him a playful pout and he rolled his eyes and nodded. "Very well then," he said, "it shall give me time to prepare somewhere for you to sleep."

"I am quite happy to sleep on the floor," she said, not wishing to make work for him when it was unnecessary, "it is good for my back."

Hisham raised a thick black eyebrow at her, "if you say so, Najat."

At that point Ikram came bounding down the stairs and skidded into the kitchen, obviously after hearing Najat's voice.

"Hello, Najat," she said, giving her friend a hug and sitting down on the chair next to her, "I didn't know you were coming for a visit today."

"Surprise," she giggled, "I am staying with you for a few days."

"It will give us time to catch up," said Ikram, getting up from the table, "excuse me, though," she headed towards the door, "I must get back to my needlework; these clothes aren't going to sew themselves."

"I shall go and peruse the markets for some food for tonight," said Najat, also getting up from the table, "I will be back shortly."

*****

With a basket full of fruit, meat and vegetables, Najat made her way back to Ikram's house just as the night was beginning to draw in. The orange glow of the setting sun made even the most rundown of buildings look pretty, and Najat loved to walk around the city at such a time. She crossed the street lined with now empty stalls towards Ikram's house; her temporary home; and stopped as something caught her eye. She stepped back behind the cover of a building, but poked her head around its dusty whitewashed corner so she could see. A group of scholars, all in white were walking towards the entrance to the city that was blocked by four guards standing across the gateway. She strained her eyes to see, but the one in the middle of the group certainly was not an ordinary scholar. She could just about see the empty leather sheath on his back and the flicker of his red sash amid the white.

"Altair," she murmured to herself, watching as the guards parted to allow the scholars to pass through – the assassin in the centre of them going by completely undetected. As soon as the scholars were a few metres away from the guards on the other side, she saw Altair break away from them and pull himself up onto a horse and start moving away from the city gates towards Kingdom.

_He left without his sword?_

She ran across to Ikram's house, and knocked on the door hurriedly. Ikram opened it, a shawl in her hand and a smile on her face as she glanced down at the basket. "You didn't need to knock; you could have just let yourself in."

"I have to go Ikram," said Najat, "and not back home," she held out the basket for Ikram to take, "tell your father I said thank you for being prepared to give me a bed for a few nights, but I shall no longer need it."

"Well where are you going?"

"To Kingdom to meet with someone," she lied, "I do not know how long I will be gone, but I will come and see you when I am back. I ask one thing of you, however."

"Go on."

"Please do not tell my father where I am going," she said, "if he finds you, tell him I am well, but I beg of you – I do not, under any circumstances, want him knowing my whereabouts."

"But-"

"Promise me, as my closest friend."

"I… I promise," said Ikram reluctantly, nibbling on her lower lip, "but Najat, before you go…"

"Yes, my friend?"

"Be careful."

"I promise you I shall," said Najat, giving the girl a tight hug. "Remember to tell your father thank you."

Ikram didn't reply but waved her goodbye, closing the door as Najat walked towards the guards blocking the entrance of the city.

Najat walked past them without any trouble, and walked over to the stables on the left, where there were three horses eating from the piles of hay by the city walls. There was no one around looking after the horses, and to her fortune they were all saddled up and ready to ride. She placed her foot on the stirrup of a palomino and swung her leg over its back and held tightly onto the reins as she gave it a little prod with her feet to get it moving. As soon as she'd past the fenced area of the stables, she flicked the reins so the horse broke into a gallop, glad that at that time of the evening there was no one wandering about the stalls outside. The guards however, seemed to get hostile towards her when she approached them at a gallop, and drew their swords, trying to attack her as she rode, but to no avail. She rode up the curving path to higher ground, hearing angry cries from the guards as she went, but she didn't care. She needed to catch up to him. She _wanted_ to catch up to him.

And then she saw him in the distance as she reached the top of the sloping path, his horse at a gentle trot and his head down. She flicked the reins again and prodded the horse's sides with her heels and it started to gallop again, slightly faster, and it started to close the gap between her and Altair.

She galloped past him and pulled on the reins so her horse would stop, and turned it round as he came closer so he could see her face.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised as he halted his black horse to avoid a collision.

"You forgot your sword," she said, reaching into the back of her tunic and pulling it out of the amateur sheath she'd put together. She held it out for him, and he took it, sliding it into his own sheath on his back without even a word of thanks, which angered her greatly.

"Is that all you came here for?" he asked, sounding bored and impatient.

"Why are you so damned ungrateful?" she questioned, looking at him with eyes filled with anger, "I save your life twice – do I get a thank you? No. I bring you back your sword – do I get a thank you? No. You are quite possibly the rudest man I have ever met in my entire life!"

He manoeuvred his horse so that they were side by side, both horse and rider. "Thank you," he said simply, trying to hide his amusement at her frustration, and only just succeeding.

"It's all very well saying it now!" she shrieked, "saying it just because I mentioned it isn't good enough!"

She was taken completely by surprise when he leant over and kissed her.

"Is that good enough?" he asked her when they broke apart, his lips curving into a full smile.

Najat was speechless; she'd never expected him to do something like that and she certainly didn't expect to like it as much as she had done. She wanted him to do it again. "Y-yes…" she managed to utter, grinning goofily.

"Goodbye, Najat."

"What? Wait!" She made her palomino trot beside his black horse as he moved away, heading towards Kingdom like he'd been before she came and stopped him. "You're just going to leave? Just like that?"

"Yes," he said simply, keeping his eyes on the track ahead and not on her.

"Let me come with you then," she offered.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It is far too dangerous for a woman like you, Najat."

"I can fight, Altair, I am not just any old maiden of the rich district. I won't be getting into trouble and you having to save me like some ridiculous damsel in distress."

"Isn't that how we met in the first place?" he reminded her.

"Yes… But I was caught off guard! I had no weapons to defend myself with."

"I cannot allow you to come with me," he said firmly, "if my enemies find out you are associated with me they will find you and kill you to get to me. I do not wish to put you at such risk."

"I am capable of looking after myself," she said boldly, "I can fight, Altair, I assure you. In fact – I fought some guards this morning."

"I know," he said, "I saw you."

"Then why won't you allow me to come with you?" she asked, "I could be of great use to you. As a woman I can get into places that you cannot."

"I am an assassin, Najat," he said, reminding her of the obvious, "I do not need to get into places; I sneak in."

"Please," she begged, "I promise I can be of use to you."

Altair remained silent for a few moments before speaking again. "Fine," he said, "but at least ride a fair distance behind me until we can find you some more suitable clothes to wear."

Najat looked down at what she was wearing, shocked that he obviously didn't like her best garments, and frowned. _He also has no taste,_ she noted privately.


End file.
